


Desperate Measures

by groovyhedgehog (GroovyHedgehog)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fetish, M/M, Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GroovyHedgehog/pseuds/groovyhedgehog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock deduced a few of John's fetishes and now he can't get the thoughts out of his mind. After waking from steamy dreams, John needs a little relief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Measures

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by some posts from www.textsfromjohnandsherlock.tumblr.com.

_Somnophilia. Receiving end._

John woke from the bizarre dream with a distinct burning between his legs. Images lingered in his mind of Sherlock’s bow-shaped lips wrapped around his erection, waking him from his dreams. Oh god. Sherlock’s hands roaming his body while he slept, unaware, until the his arousal was too hard to ignore and too tempting for Sherlock to resist. The feeling of being dragged from his dreams by such a touch. He groaned and swore and glanced over toward the doorway, which was partially open.

 _Danger. Chance of being discovered._

Oh god, what was wrong with him. His hand was already slipping into his briefs, fingers brushing against the arousal that had risen from his dreams. What if Sherlock was watching him? What if he saw? John’s mind fell back to the thought of Sherlock’s lips enveloping his short, thick cock, and he moaned. Bloody hell. His nerves were on fire. Just a simple touch sent shock waves through his veins to his extremities.

 _Voyeur/Exhibitionist._

Sherlock’s body, slender, pale, so _beautiful,_ erect beneath the cascading water of the shower, glistening in the electric light. Every curve defined, highlighted by the water running over it. John’s fingers curled around his cock and he moaned, imagining standing outside the bathroom door, watching Sherlock shower. Oh god, what if Sherlock caught him. Oh god _oh god oh god._

 _I caught you watching me put on my gloves._

He swore loudly. Sherlock’s gloved hand, wrapped around his heat, playing with him, taunting him. Panting, John pulled out his erection to the cool night air and ran his fingers up and down, tip to base and back again, circling the slit at the end and feeling the undeniable evidence of his pre-cum. Bloody hell. How could a man do that to him? How did Sherlock even end up in his dreams? How?

He squeezed his balls, fingers massaging the places he knew were sensitive, and his mind replaced his own hand with Sherlock’s long, gloved fingers, exploring. He almost came right there. Breath, short, ragged, caught in his throat and he dug his toes into the sheets, body arching slightly out of his bedding, moonlight casting over tight skin and scars. His own hands worked strong, calloused, rough around his own heat as his fantasy melted into something even more shameful, more arousing, more depraved but _oh god it’s so good._ Sitting in the midst of a grand dining room with Sherlock by his side, that fucking gloved hand sliding over his thigh under the table, rubbing, teasing, squeezing, and slipping inside his pants.

“Oh god yes,” John hissed; his body tensed, free fingers clutching the sheets as he arched away from the bed again, teeth sinking deep into his lips to hold an absolutely scandalous growl from escaping his mouth. White built up inside him, inside his groin, inside his mind, and burned everything, spilled out over his hands onto the sheets in waves. “Sherlock!” The waves crashed and his body writhed until his hand had milked every last trickle of ecstasy from his body and he fell back to the sheets, still, breathless, and shaking. And then Sherlock’s voice filled his mind and he blushed so hard he knew he’d have to bury it deep. He’d have to bury it all deep.

 _John, such a naughty pet._

God, why, why, why?

 _Look at the mess you’ve made._

John buried his burning face in his pillow and struggled to forget.


End file.
